A Tale of Two Cities

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Doctor Manette did not return until the morning of the fourth day of his
absence. So much of what had happened in that dreadful time as could be kept
from the knowledge of Lucie was so well concealed from her, that not until long
afterwards, when France and she were far apart, did she know that eleven hundred
defenceless prisoners of both sexes and all ages had been killed by the
populace; that four days and nights had been darkened by this deed of horror;
and that the air around her had been tainted by the slain. She only knew that
there had been an attack upon the prisons, that all political prisoners had been
in danger, and that some had been dragged out by the crowd and murdered.

Dr. Manette didn’t come back until one morning four days later. Lucie was kept
from knowing so much of what had happened during that terrible period that it
wasn’t until much later, when she had been away from France for a long time,
that she learned eleven hundred defenseless prisoners—both male and female and
of all ages—had been killed by the people. This horrible deed had gone on for
four days and nights, while the dead bodies had poisoned the air around her. She
only knew that there had been an attack on the prisons and that all of the
political prisoners had been in danger. She knew that some of them had been
dragged out of the prisons by the crowd and killed.

To Mr. Lorry, the Doctor communicated under an injunction of secrecy on which
he had no need to dwell, that the crowd had taken him through a scene of carnage
to the prison of La Force. That, in the prison he had found a self-appointed
Tribunal sitting, before which the prisoners were brought singly, and by which
they were rapidly ordered to be put forth to be massacred, or to be released, or
(in a few cases) to be sent back to their cells. That, presented by his
conductors to this Tribunal, he had announced himself by name and profession as
having been for eighteen years a secret and unaccused prisoner in the Bastille;
that, one of the body so sitting in judgment had risen and identified him, and
that this man was Defarge.

Swearing Mr. Lorry to secrecy, Dr. Manette informed him that the crowd had
taken him through the bloodshed in the streets to La Force Prison. There he had
found a self-appointed

tribunal holding trials in the prison. The prisoners were brought
in front of the tribunal one-by-one, and the tribunal would quickly decide if
they should be killed, released, or, in a few cases, brought back to their
cells. The people accompanying him had presented Dr. Manette to the tribunal. He
had told them his name and his profession and that he had spent eighteen years
as a secret prisoner at the Bastille who had never been officially accused of
anything. One of the tribunal members stood up and identified him. This man was
Defarge.

That, hereupon he had ascertained, through the registers on the table, that
his son-in-law was among the living prisoners, and had pleaded hard to the
Tribunal—of whom some members were asleep and some awake, some dirty with murder
and some clean, some sober and some not—for his life and liberty. That, in the
first frantic greetings lavished on himself as a notable sufferer under the
overthrown system, it had been accorded to him to have Charles Darnay brought
before the lawless Court, and examined. That, he seemed on the point of being at
once released, when the tide in his favour met with some unexplained check (not
intelligible to the Doctor), which led to a few words of secret conference.
That, the man sitting as President had then informed Doctor Manette that the
prisoner must remain in custody, but should, for his sake, be held inviolate in
safe custody. That, immediately, on a signal, the prisoner was removed to the
interior of the prison again; but, that he, the Doctor, had then so strongly
pleaded for permission to remain and assure himself that his son-in-law was,
through no malice or mischance, delivered to the concourse whose murderous yells
outside the gate had often drowned the proceedings, that he had obtained the
permission, and had remained in that Hall of Blood until the danger was
over.

Dr. Manette told Mr. Lorry that he had learned from the lists on the table
that Charles was one of the prisoners who was still alive. Dr. Manette had
begged the tribunal to let Charles live. Some of the men on the tribunal were
asleep, some were awake, some were covered in blood and some were clean, some
were sober and some were drunk. He told them that the people had granted him the
right, as a sufferer under the now-defeated justice system, to have Charles
Darnay brought in front of the tribunal and examined. It seemed that Charles was
about to be released when his luck came to a stop. The doctor couldn’t
understand why. The members of the tribunal then spoke a few words to each other
in secret. The man acting as president of the tribunal then told Dr. Manette
that the prisoner had to stay in custody, but for the doctor’s sake he would be
kept safe. Then, on a signal, Charles was taken inside the prison again. The
doctor had begged for permission to stay and make sure that Charles wasn’t,
through malice or bad luck, taken out to the violent crowd outside the gate.
Their murderous yells often drowned out the court proceedings. Dr. Manette had
been allowed to stay and had stayed there in the courtroom until the danger was
over.

The sights he had seen there, with brief snatches of food and sleep by
intervals, shall remain untold. The mad joy over the prisoners who were saved,
had astounded him scarcely less than the mad ferocity against those who were cut
to pieces. One prisoner there was, he said, who had been discharged into the
street free, but at whom a mistaken savage had thrust a pike as he passed out.
Being besought to go to him and dress the wound, the Doctor had passed out at
the same gate, and had found him in the arms of a company of Samaritans, who
were seated on the bodies of their victims. With an inconsistency as monstrous
as anything in this awful nightmare, they had helped the healer, and tended the
wounded man with the gentlest solicitude—had made a litter for him and escorted
him carefully from the spot—had then caught up their weapons and plunged anew
into a butchery so dreadful, that the Doctor had covered his eyes with his
hands, and swooned away in the midst of it.

The things he saw there between his brief meals and sleep will remain untold.
The intense celebration when a prisoner was saved didn’t surprise him any less
than the intense rage toward those who were sentenced to death and cut to
pieces. Dr. Manette said one prisoner there had been set free into the street,
only to be mistakenly stabbed with a pike as he went out. The crowd begged the
doctor to go tend to his wound, and he had gone out to him from the same gate.
He found the man in the arms of a group of volunteers. They were sitting on top
of the bodies of people they had killed. They helped the doctor and took care of
the wounded man with gentle concern. Their helpful behavior was so inconsistent
that it was as disturbing as anything else in that awful nightmare. They made a
stretcher for him and carried him carefully away, and then they picked up their
weapons again and went back to killing people so terribly that the doctor
covered his eyes with his hands and passed out in the middle of it.